


They Find Each Other (they always do)

by Leopardtail



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Just a whole lot of emotions in this fic, M/M, Mates, Mating Bond, Mating Collars, Memory Loss, Nat and Sam are mentioned in passing, Nesting, Omega Bucky Barnes, Reunited Mates, Scenting, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve loves Bucky so much it hurts, The fact there isn't a true tag for that makes me sad, Unreliable Narrator, Very minor sex scene, for both of them, just me having fun with a/b/o traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leopardtail/pseuds/Leopardtail
Summary: Captain America was saved from his icy grave by SHEILD, brought back to save the world and live again.They revived the hero, but not the man.Steve Rogers lost everything. Shouldering the guilt, he soldiers on because that is what the world needs. He was robbed of the death he'd sought, veiled under something that just so happened to save millions. He's a shell, an alpha plagued by guilt in his failure.That is until the Winter Soldier is captured.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 38
Kudos: 351





	They Find Each Other (they always do)

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank all the wonderful people in the Shrunkyclunk Bitches server for being amazing and cheering me on in this. I didn't think my little headcanon post would evolve into a 12k fic but I am proud it has none the less. 
> 
> Extra special shout out to everyone who did sprints with me. Y'all are the reason this thing got finished.

Part I 

_ ice _

Death felt like sleep. Nothing more than a pause, putting on hold everything that he had run from. He came back to it all but this version was harsher, now marred with the confusion of being alive in a place he shouldn’t. The pain was still there, fresh as ever. The aching hole in his chest. The grief. The mourning of a protector having failed. Alphas were supposed to die first, the plunge into death his way of righting the wrongs that the world had decided to force onto him.

The guilt most of all, never left. 

No one asked. No one cared what lay shaking and shattered in his heart. After all, they revived Captain America, not Steve Rogers. 

He was a ghost better left dead. His body nothing more than a machine built to withstand abuse and to brutalize whatever he was ordered too, not that he ever truly listened. You couldn’t tame a beast. 

And no one expects a beast to have loved. Even less to have lost. 

Captain America was a symbol. The protector of the people, a man of renown and the embodiment of a noble sacrifice, throwing himself into the ice to save the world. 

Steve Rogers was a man broken by loss. A man with a life outside of the shield. Only those who knew  _ Steve  _ knew about those things, had cared. 

When James “Bucky” Barnes fell, the only one who had ever known Steve had vanished. All that was left to tether him to reality was the role he had to play. 

The day his mate died, Steve Rogers went with him. Captain America may have crashed to save the world, but Steve Rogers was the one with a suicide wish. He succeeded. 

After all, the world only ever wants heroes. 

_ Part II  _

_ a long winter _

It wasn’t hard to find things to do, but it was impossible to find a distraction. 

The one thing he held onto was his past. Even the darkest moments had their rose tint fuzzing the edges. One memory on loop was of the last time he’d heard laughter. The muffled giggle of his omega as they snuck into a back room, Steve’s impatience amusing even in the midst of a broken, battling world. They still had hope then. Plans. Bucky had even teased about pups, how it was hard enough to get Steve to let him walk out onto the battle as it was. He assumed Steve ever had a choice. 

There were days he was no more than a dead man walking, his own body too stubborn to give out on him. So he fought, used what refused to die to bring some good into the world. Ignored the days the stabbing void screamed out for the missing piece. Accepted the hollow shell he needed to become to survive what he ran from to begin with. He did what duty demanded, did what he could in the hope that somewhere, his love was able to be proud of him even when he’d given up. 

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the blur of time and battles, a letter came. 

_ Steve,  _

_ I’m surprised you’ve managed to stay in such good shape fifty some years down the line. Didn’t think I’d be seeing you running around in the world causing mayhem again. I’m almost surprised my brother isn’t trailing after you still, though I guess that really is too much to ask. Can’t have too many dead men roaming the streets or that would end up being just another mess for you to clean up.  _

_ Still, I can read you Steve. Even from a few hundred miles away and with my eyes getting a bit too old for the job. I know losing James was your worst nightmare, and now you have to live it. I kept some of his things. Items that just seemed too important to let go. I want you to have them. The address on the envelope is where you can find me. I think you’ll appreciate what I managed to save.  _

_ All my love,  _

_ Becca _

He was caught somewhere between joy and the fear of confronting a ghost. Becca had every right to skin him alive, even in her old age. He’d failed. In saving the world he lost the one person he’d have let it burn for. Yet, he found himself booking a flight to a part of Indiana he’d never heard of and boarding a plane with a rental car waiting on the other side to take him the last leg that air travel couldn’t manage. Bucky had always said Steve lacked fear, for better or worse. But all good men feared something, and the unlucky must live through it and Steve long ago accepted fate was determined to make him one of them. 

The house he found was old, but in the same way he was. Overdue bones but the outside looked like they hadn’t aged more than a few years. He wondered if it groaned as age caught up with it. His own ghost pains still holding true even after his body rid itself of their shadows. He didn’t get to consider it much. The spindly frame propped on the porch watched him, silently ushering him forward. Steve made it to the steps before freezing. He’d faced death more than once, lived to tell one to many tales about it and this was what made his heart seize. 

Becca had  _ his  _ eyes. The storm gray that haunted his dreams and stared back through old photos. He’d had so little time to mourn, even now. Seeing her weathered face broke another piece off inside of him. He’d last seen her as no older than seventeen, now she had out paced him. Lived through more than he could imagine and was still sitting there to tell the tale. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when she moved, reminded him that she was still here and not another ghost. She scooped up a box, a tad worn but still managed to have held up. With one willowy hand she beconned him up the steps, impatient even now. 

“Hurry up, no use standing around all day after coming out all this way.” Even her voice was different, chipped with age just as every other piece of her. The cracks in her skin deep and never something he was meant to see. 

“Sorry-” Had to cut himself off before saying “ma’am”. This was not a stranger even as much as she looked the part. She deserved better as his mate’s sister. A piece of him could not help but mourn the time lost. How much more she deserved from him than she got. All because of a war no one should have had to bear witness too. 

“I know, always as polite as can be. Just get your tush up here so I can give you what you came for.” 

He could feel her teasing him even though her words seemed lightly bitter. It was just the way she spoke, it seemed even time and age couldn’t change some things. 

As soon as he was within range, she passed the box into his hands. The top was sealed off with old, yellowed masking tape and marked with the word “Bucky”, written neatly in faded black marker. 

“Don’t open it until you’re home.” She stood up surprisingly fast. He just barely managed to get out of her way. “Now get in here, I’ve got stew on the stove and the grandkids are going to be here for dinner and I need someone to get the good china down.” 

Steve followed in a trance, followed her into the house and was immediately hit with her scent. It filled the home, as should be expected. Still, Steve was taken aback by just how similar she and Bucky smelled. It was different, different enough that there was no way in hell he would mistake it for the man he had grown with and mated. But there was a familiarity to it. Families always shared notes and traits in their scents and Becca had the peach undertones Bucky had worn at the forefront of his own scent. 

His shoulders loosened as they made their way towards the kitchen. Steve glanced at the pictures on the walls and paused for a moment by one. Framed to the left of the arch way leading to the kitchen, it was in a high traffic spot. His heart clenched knowing that, it meant Becca had put it there to see it, to be reminded. 

In an ancient wooden frame, with a picture nearly washed out by time, was the Barnes family and a much, much smaller Steve. 

He remembered that day vividly, seeing it brought back long gone memories that not even his own mind had been able to dig up and torture him with. It was one of the last days of summer. They had picked it so Steve wouldn’t be forced out in the extreme heat or during the chill of coming autumn. It was a day he remembered being so painfully joyous. 

Bucky was young, and by extension Steve was as well. Yet, even in the fading photo the dark bruising on opposite sides of their necks shine bright. This family photo was taken the day after Steve had mated the love of his life and tied them together till death. Even if during those days they knew it could always be just around the corner. Bucky had loved him enough to hitch himself to a ticking bomb, but Steve was the selfish one for strapping it to him. 

“Steve, you’re not gonna be able to get the dishes down all the way out in the living room, no matter how big you’ve gotten!” Becca’s voice came from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of a spoon hitting the floor and a string of curses. 

He peels himself away from the photo and goes to set the box on the dining room table. It was an old piece, but not one he’d seen before so he doubted it was another memento from before the war. 

Walking into the kitchen he was confronted by a surprising amount of bustle. Becca pulled a pie out of the oven as her stew bubbled away on the stove top. A basket of rolls was already on the counter, pale wisps of steam dancing about them. These were set out alongside a covered pot and a crock of pale butter. The whole kitchen smelled warm and savory. 

“... You knew I was coming, didn’t you?”

“I have my ways, yes.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Likely not. Let’s just say that I didn’t come by your mail address through public means.”

“That is… ominous, Becca.”

“Ah, but if you didn’t fear me just a little I wouldn’t get to have the fun I do.” She shot him what must be the cheekiest grin he’s ever seen before she is back to business. “The plates and bowls are on the top shelf, cabinet on your left there.”

Doing as he was told, he managed to find and retrieve the dishes, surprised she was going to put stew of all things in them. They were the kind of china that people prided themselves on having back in the 40s, it would be unthinkable to put such a common dish into them just for family. 

Not one to argue, he kept those thoughts to himself and went to set the table before he was told to do so. The box he took out to the car and placed carefully on the floor of the passenger seat for safe keeping. He took a moment for himself and looked out at the dark, empty land around the house. When Becca’s shuffling footsteps made their way out onto the porch, he glanced her way. She was looking out in the direction he’d been.

“You know…” 

Steve turned his head, focused on her now that she has acknowledged her own presence. 

“When we got the news, we got the notice for both of you at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Becca.”

“The thing was, Steve, we shouldered it. At the end of the day we just thanked god for letting you two go together.” Her eyes, glassy with tears, settle on him. “We knew that you being apart would have been so much worse.” 

Steve walked up the steps to her and stood beside her, not for the first time since waking up wondering if he was talking to a ghost. 

She reached out, closed decades between them and came to rest her hand over his heart.    
  
And just like that, the dead were once again, living.

_ Part III _

_ spark _

The box sat on the coffee table and it was honest to god the first time Steven Grant Rogers had been scared since entering the 21st century. It felt like staring down the wrong end of a gun but it’s the wrong metaphor because he’s done  _ that  _ enough times to lose count and it had never been like this. It had never been a fear that made his stomach seize and his hands go cold. One that felt like it may shatter the last bit of himself that had managed to hold on in spite of everything. The confusion is normal, the ringing in his ears that followed the thoughts that splatter up against the carefully placed wall inside of him are as well. When ships flood, the chambers inside of them drop sealing gates to prevent the whole thing from sinking. The cost of this is the death of those who could not escape in time. Letting pieces of himself do the same have been the only way to keep the ship sailing. 

The mystery of what hides just within reach has the gates cracking open. His mate, the one casualty not worth the price of survival--of saving the ship.

It stayed there for six hours before he opened it. Tears come when the first thing he smelled was age. The dust of so many years between these last remaining pieces of his life and himself. It opened caverns between his ribs. He closed it and walked away. 

He is back not even ten minutes later. 

He prepared himself this time. Refused to take in any of the scent as he opened the container and gently moved the old newspaper aside, ignored that the headlines were about him, about his death. The second he felt  _ it _ , he fell to his knees, had to stop himself from crushing it in his hand by accident.

Carefully, he removed the collar. It’s surface worn and the old leather belt it was fashioned from had softened into something akin to cloth. He didn’t hide from the tears, the sorrow, not this time. Sat back on his heels, he ran careful thumbs over it, thumbed the smudged buckle and the carefully embroidered initials under the holes in the strap. 

He can still remember the exact moment he gave it to Bucky. They were broke, poorer than dirt but every omega deserves a mating collar. If nothing else, to simply have it as a symbol. He’d heard that it was a tradition that had died off not long after the war. It became a workplace hazard and Steve couldn’t blame anyone for that. Even Bucky had left his behind when he had managed to sneak into the army. Bucky had cried, but the service meant money, and money meant treatment to keep Steve alive another year. 

It had been a well loved item. He’d made it from a belt he’d managed to get a good deal on from a second hand store because the end had been severely damaged. It had taken time to fix. He’d been dealing with flare ups and joint pains at the time, but he managed to work the leather down to collar size, punch holes, and cut a nice tapered end to it. When he finally presented it to Bucky, his mate hardly ever took it off from that point forward. 

Steve thumbed the most worn down notch. One that was always a bit too tight but Bucky insisted on. The lettering had been Bucky’s handy work. SGR in a bright blue floss, just a smidge messy, but leather wasn’t exactly an easy material for needle work. Steve had been obsessed with it. Constantly wanted to see and feel the thread, an additional claim Bucky had willingly donned and without Steve ever having thought to add it. His adoration of the piece showed. 

The threads had gone fuzzy, no more than they had been the day Bucky had worn it for the last time but still a touch ratty. Bucky had insisted he would fix it, but he never got the chance. Steve tried his hardest not to focus on that detail, instead working his fingers over the divot in the leather where he’d stroked and grabbed for Bucky too many times. Dented and smoothed the leather despite it never being a move of force from him. 

His only regret had been that it wasn’t just a little nicer. The buckle had always left painful red lines across his darling’s throat. It wasn’t the dainty mating collars that were popular when he was young. It was large, clunky, and masculine. It looked wrong at times, he feared his mate looked more like a dog than a treasured omega. And yet, here it was. A possession that had stood the test of time and managed to make its way back to him after all this time. He couldn’t imagine what else could be in the box that was worth more than this; but he’d felt something soft earlier and his curiosity peaked. 

With the collar off to the side on the table, he peered into the box and felt his heart come to a dead stop. Folded neatly, with a few other objects on top of it, sat a quilt. Moving the other objects aside to be examined later, he pulled out the blanket, letting it fold open as it came out. He knew what it was the moment he saw it there, but he had to make sure, had to be certain this was it. 

The “O” shaped blocks on the quilt gave it away, but if that hadn’t been enough, the small, orange stain in the lower left corner would have. This was Bucky’s first heat quilt. The first thing he’d ever built a nest with and the foundation for every single one after. 

His first thought was it wasn’t his to have. Omega quilts should stay with their family, passed down to each new generation until they’re truly too old and mangled to be usable. Even then, old quilts became pieces of new ones. Bucky had been responsible for more than just his. He was the only omega and had gotten two others from each side of his family. Those had definitely gone to another, but this one should have as well. Becca had given him something that never left the family, ever. Which only meant one thing. 

Even after everything, all his failings, Steve was still considered a Barnes. 

Wandering the apartment seemed logical at the time. He carried the blanket over one arm and meandered through the house, not looking for anything in particular. He was on autopilot when he found himself standing in an empty closet. It was the one in his bedroom. His clothes were stored in a dresser out of habit. He’d only ever had one closet when he was mated and that was Bucky’s, his own clothes making appearances at Bucky’s discretion. 

Steve knew that a part of him had snapped when he began pooling pillows, clothes, and any spare blankets he could find into the little hole in the wall. Anything that looked remotely similar to the things Bucky had hoarded. He knew his mate hated feeling the floor while in the nest, so much so he would sacrifice walls to slip enough pillows under the quilt to feel elevated off the floor. The nest he was able to build with spares around the apartment was undeniably shitty. Bucky was the builder between them. He hadn’t been able to help much beyond being a comfort and a knot for Bucky to ride during heat. Bucky would have killed him for thinking that but it didn’t change the fact his omega would tuck him in the nest and go about scrambling over him for hours just to save Steve the embarrassment of attempting to give his baby the pounding he needed. His flare-ups had been a constant hindrance to his ability to provide anything but his presence and love during times like that. 

More of nearly everything required to make a nest was on his agenda. No part of him was blind to the desperation of his mission. He would let himself have this regardless. No one came here, even if they did they would have to hunt to find the nest and without knowing his past, it would just seem a touch odd. A nest was a reminder of loss, yes, but it was also the one place he had dropped his guard. There had never been judgement there, only that which Steve had passed on himself in retrospect. Bucky’s nest had been safety, warmth, and all the  _ good  _ in Steve’s life back then. It was selfish of him to take that piece and bring it back to life. It was wholly and truly so but he already had sheets picked out in his head, ones he knew Bucky would have loved. Soft things, the kind they couldn’t afford back then. He tried to remember the brand of scent trapping blankets Bucky had mooned over in their youth, wondered if they were even still around. 

Bucky may be gone, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do everything Bucky had wanted but never asked for. This was his tribute, a memorial to the man he’d loved and lost. What he couldn’t have in life, he damn well deserved in death. 

Part IV

_ nearly forgotten _

There are moments in time when a long gone memory forms itself into something violent. A reminder of a past that managed to sweep you off your feet. 

The day Fury called him in raving about some sort of high profile prisoner related to Hydra, Steve was halfway out the door before the line went dead. He didn’t mind the details, too set on something breakable, something physical to punish other than himself. It’s easy to justify when Hydra is the one on the other end, one of the few entities he has ever truly harbored hatred for; the only one he can blame other than himself for all the suffering in his life. 

Outside the holding cell he’s handed a folder an inch thick and told the basics. The Winter Soldier, some uncountable number of assassinations, Hydra’s best, and six men dead to capture him is all he bothered to remember. No one got in his way, or at the very least Sam and Nat kept people out of the firing range. They knew well what rage awaited the poor son of a bitch behind the cell door and liked to make sure people kept the good, clean image of Captain America intact. 

The cell is scent proof from the outside, made of the shit even gods can’t get through. Names matter but not now, the specifics will come later, when he’s clear again. Only Sam knew the black out rage state Hydra put him in, and even then Steve suspected Clint and Nat knew. He went in, ready to be the Soldier’s worst nightmare when everything stopped. 

Steve’s mind was blank for a few, drawn seconds. He wouldn’t be able to recall the first few beats of this moment. It was blinding. Everything attempting to come into focus all at once and failing. When he finally came back online, his first instinct was to assume he’d died. That walking into this room had somehow killed him so swiftly he never saw it coming. The shield clattered to the ground. The clang piercing and loud, enough to remind him that no, no this was real. 

Strapped in front of a table, with only half a metal arm and swollen, bloody cheeks, sat the one man he’d never managed to leave in the past. 

Bucky Barnes(-Rogers) sat half conscious before him, a ghost more alive than ever. 

Steve doesn’t think, doesn’t stop to consider what this will look like on the video feeds. He moves like he’s being yanked across the room. He slammed the table away, the metal frame warped as he caved the leg in. It crumpled against the wall, folding into itself as though it was trying to disappear. He heard the comms spark to life, a sharp  _ Rogers!  _ but it didn’t matter, none of it does. Here and now he is not Captain America, he isn’t even Steve Rogers, he is a man finally reuniting with the only thing that had ever made him human. An alpha with something to live for again. 

His knees hit the floor hard enough they put cracks in the concrete floor. Bucky is strapped down but it doesn’t stop Steve from grabbing the omega’s waist and pressing his chest hard enough into Bucky’s knees that his ribs ache. Head tipped back, he wants to beg for forgiveness, to cry, to kiss and take and love what had always been his. But he doesn’t. Only managed to choke out one word. 

“Bucky.” 

The lack of recognition nearly killed him. Bucky didn’t move, stark still and staring down at Steve like he’s a stranger. He felt the tears coming, welling up to the surface and he fears that he’d mistaken this Hydra agent for someone who had upheld everything good and right in Steve’s world. That theory made more sense, he is seconds away from powdering the bones beneath his fingers, to punish this man for wearing the face of his mate, when he caught something. 

It’s faint, covered under layers of chemical smells trying to mask it. After the serum his nose had become sensitive enough to pass right through scent blockers. Even if it hadn’t the way the ice in his chest thawed into a red hot coal would have told him the truth. 

The smell of cherries, peaches, and a separate undertone of sage that had always been odd but never unloved. The ripeness of the fruit quelled by the earthier scent. This was his mate, despite all logic and every possible lead pointing to otherwise, this was his omega, his Bucky. 

He buried his face down along the crease where Bucky’s leg met his torso and breathed. It was likely an odd position to see but off to the side enough that it didn’t look like he was attempting to deep throat a S.H.I.E.L.D prisoner. The ear piece buzzed with chatter that he didn’t hear, it was frustrating enough he flicked the volume down. This was  _ their  _ time. Fury could wait. 

His mate’s scent was soothing, suddenly bringing into focus how much of an exposed, aggravated nerve he’d felt like since he’d woke up in modern day New York. All the rage, the fight, it bleeds from his body down into the cold concrete and even further back into the earth to be of better use elsewhere. For the first time in decades, he was home. 

Now if only home remembered who he was. 

Steve is genuinely surprised Fury hasn’t kicked the door in on them in a fit of rage, but even the quiet droning of his ear piece has stopped. It’s been replaced with a low, rumbling noise, one that had become so foreign he didn’t realize what it was until a soft croon answered it. 

He lifted his face from it’s cozy home in his omega’s lap just in time to catch the soft expression on that battered face. The noise is soft and sweet, something unintentional that managed to turn the alpha to jello. Bucky really had always made the prettiest sounds. 

The peace doesn’t last long. Bucky jerked, like the sound emitted from his own throat startled him near to death. The purr that had pushed its way through Steve’s own chest roared to a near deafening peak in an attempt to vanquish the stress and fear in his omega. Bucky’s chest was heaving, like he couldn’t get enough air. He tugged on his one bound wrist trying to get away. In one smooth, upward glide, Steve nearly deposited himself in his mate’s lap. Chest to chest and with a hand in unfamiliarly long hair, he made sure Bucky could feel him. That his love, no matter how confused, knew his mate was here. That he was safe. 

“Sweetheart, baby, it’s just me,” Steve muttered as close to Bucky’s ear as he could manage without crushing him against the back of the chair. 

The trembling didn't stop. Bucky felt like a live wire under him. Pent up nerves and energy with nowhere to go so they rattle around in the frame attempting to contain them. The one thing that did change was his breathing. Bucky’s frightened, gasping breaths turned to shaky, but longer pulls. If nothing else, Bucky’s body recognized it’s mate. 

“What are you doing to me?” The voice came out raspy--harsh--like he’d been screaming, or crying. It broke Steve’s freshly mended heart. 

  
  


“Nothing, I’m just holding you. Just tryin’ to make sure you’re okay.” The words  _ I can let go, if you need me to  _ failed to make it out. It was a lie, and he was done with living half truths. 

“Hurts--” 

“Where does it hurt?” He was suddenly reminded that this place wasn’t safe, it was filled with people not only capable of harming his omega, but who had. It set his teeth on edge. 

“Chest, inside, something hot…” They were gasped out, hardly coherent thoughts. 

All Steve could think to do was carefully pull the frightened man forward and into the mating glands along his neck, right over where Bucky had bit what felt like a lifetime ago. 

All the fight flew away in an instant. Muscles relaxed and uncoiled, settling soft and heavy against Steve’s chest like a puppet with its strings cut. He carefully worked the baby hairs at the base of Bucky’s skull. 

“There you go. I’ve got you. Not gonna let them do anythin’ else to you. Wish I’d known, would’a nabbed ya before they banged you up,” The long dead Brooklyn boy surfaced, just enough for the accent to slip through. Hoped it would bring up old memories of things Bucky clearly didn’t remember. Something bad had happened, and when the dust was settled he’d deal with that, but for now he needed to right a long, long list of wrongs. 

They stayed there for a time, how long was anyone’s guess. Steve just breathed, thanked and made promises to a god he didn’t quite believe existed before this moment. It wasn’t until he felt Bucky jerking that he looked up. His poor mate kept tugging at the metal cuff to no avail. Steve didn’t think about where they were and what he was doing. He just knew his mate was uncomfortable, likely trying to reach for him back. The cuff was not easy to remove but up against an enhanced alpha with his heart dead set on whatever his mate could possibly want being made real, it really didn’t stand much of a chance. 

The first thing Bucky did was sink a hand into Steve’s hair; the second was press the flats of his teeth against ancient scars. 

The third thing to happen was the door flying open and the rapid click of loaded guns being cocked. 

The growl that ripped through Steve should have been enough to send them running. The last thing anyone should  _ dare _ be doing is threatening his mate. The sound rang through the air and he could smell the wash of fear in the room. Bucky pulled back, flinching from being suddenly blasted with the scent of raging alpha. Steve stood, turned his back to Bucky, and created a clear barrier between him and the men he formally considered allies. He caught the sound of Sam’s voice in the hallway, arguing with someone. 

Fury pulled up to the helm, always the clear leader but never the man holding the loaded pistol. No, the dirty work was another man’s job. 

“Rogers, seems you have some connections we weren’t privy to upon assigning you this interrogation.” The glare failed to be intimidating, might have worked better on a man with less to lose. 

A red haze was settling over his vision, some primal part of his brain chanting  _ protect, remove anything that will harm mate  _ and right now, there were a whole lot of things that needed to be removed for him to feel that was done. A dark part of him suggested the base would be a good start. The growl rose in pitch, every hair in the room stood on end. 

“ _ Rogers,  _ I will  _ not  _ repeat myself. Explain what your relation to the Winter Soldier is.” 

“ _ Mate _ .” No room for argument, threat clear as day, come too close and you won’t walk out of here to tell the tale. 

Fury studied him in silence. Letting the tension steep before commenting. “What’s the Winter Soldier’s name?” 

He didn’t like the way the question was framed. Really, he didn’t like Fury even  _ thinking _ about his omega at the moment. 

“Bucky. Omega.  _ Mine.”  _ A snarl made for fitting punctuation. Some part of his sanity still desperately holding on chimed in, commented on how close to a beast he must be. He would become a monster if that was what it took to walk out of here with Bucky by his side. 

Fury tapped his ear piece. “Run a profile for anyone named Bucky in Captain’s files.” He must have gotten confirmation as he returned his attention to the threat in the room. “You’re gonna sit your ass down in this room and stay put till we get some shit straight. If you try to exit before I give the go ahead, there are sixteen men with enough ammo to lay your ass in the grave before you can get another half assed grunt out.” Fury seemed to think that was sufficient and exited the cell without waiting for any confirmation from Steve. The men who had entered filed out, facing him as they backed away with their guns still drawn and ready. 

Steve was just happy to see them go. He turned back to Bucky, hurt when he saw a light, hazy fear there. He delicately pulled Bucky in. Set Bucky against his throat and tried to push an aura of calm. There was no movement, just puffs of air at first. A nervous tongue eventually peaks out. The careful laps over his scent glands had him holding on by threads. He couldn’t take Bucky apart right now, couldn’t take his mate right there for everyone to see. It wasn’t safe--but god-- if he didn’t want to. He needed to claim him, make sure it was clear as day that Bucky was  _ his  _ and he was just as much his omega’s. He itched to clamp down on the pale neck in front of him, to reopen their mating bite and turn it fresh. There was still confusion lingering in the background, but not enough to matter right this second. All he knew was something bad happened for Bucky to be here, for him not to have made his way back to Steve the second he came out of the ice. 

Bucky didn’t speak. Had it been a normal day, one from back before or even during the war, it wouldn’t have been off at all. Bucky enjoyed quiet time and Steve enjoyed his omega content. After so long apart, it scared him. The lack of bubbling “I love you”, “I missed you”s, and no tears in sight other than his own dropped his stomach through the floor. 

“Buckybaby, you with me?”

Nothing, even the obsessive tending to Steve’s mating glands come to a stop. 

“Sweetheart?” He sounded frightened, even to his own ears. 

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, take your time.” 

“I don’t know who you are.” 

It shattered him. The pieces stuck frozen in their freefall as everything came to a screeching halt. 

“I’m Steve-- Stevie, your mate.” 

“I don’t have one.” 

His panic rose. “Yes, you do. I know I was gone but-- but you-- you have mating scars too. My bite.” He blindly felt for the indent of his teeth on Bucky’s neck. When they were found, he pressed lightly on them. 

Bucky tensed, tight and dead still. “Didn’t know. They didn’t tell me what it was.” 

Steve’s head spun. He could feel the scar tissue, craned his neck to visually confirm it. The indents of his teeth were still there, same as the last day he saw them. The single wonky mating tooth that broke the perfect ring of indents matching his set. 

“Who didn’t tell you?”

“The handlers.” 

_ Hydra.  _

They’d done something. Something bad enough to wipe Bucky’s memories and make him into a supposed killing machine, enough that six men didn’t get to go home tonight. He squeezed Bucky close, wanted him close enough to meld them together so he could protect whatever pieces left of his mate there were. 

“It’s okay Bucky--”

“Who’s Bucky?” 

Steve’s throat clamped down so hard there was an audible  _ click. _ This was worse. This was far, far worse. He attempted to devise a plan when Bucky suddenly curled into himself, letting out a grunt of pain. Understandably concerned, he reached out, tried to draw the slowly tightening form closer when something faint, almost too weak to notice, caught his attention. 

A slightly sweet smell, like fruit just beginning to go a bit too ripe. It was a scent that lived in his dreams, old and bittersweet. His first reaction was joy. The second was immense, heart stopping fear.    
  
Bucky was going into heat.

Part V

_ even with scars _

Days he should have remembered began to blur. All that was left were hazy details. Bucky was removed from him, placed in a room where he wouldn’t “be of danger” to anyone. Steve followed. For the first time, or maybe just the first he recognized, was the one to follow Bucky into the dark unknown. 

  
  


Bucky’s heat didn’t come. Something about Hydra using suppressants at crippling doses, all he heard was  _ lethal withdrawal  _ and suddenly the fertile smell of soil and fruit is slammed behind a bitter, metallic scent. 

It was painful to watch the way this new version of his mate interacted with the world. It was scary. Timid as though he was constantly lost, and with the lack of recognition, Steve didn’t doubt that was exactly what Bucky was experiencing. Acclimating to the world after a seventy year time skip had been hard enough without the loss of his memories and the sudden realization of having a long lost mate. 

Though in all fairness, he was also experiencing the latter. 

Fury didn’t let him leave, which was a moot point seeing as he wasn’t going to let Bucky out of his sight for much more than a few minutes at a time. There was a constant cycle of questions, often ones he can’t answer with more than a few words, a theory, or just a simple ‘I don’t know’. The suspicion on Fury’s part was clearly there, it wasn’t as though Steve could blame him. Steve being connected to an enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D did not look good, and the being said enemy’s mate was exponentially worse. 

No one had the right answer. No one really had a clue what was going on other than the bare bones basics and the fact that since Steve had arrived, Bucky had stopped fighting. Whenever he wasn’t being forcibly shoved into an interrogation room for hours at a time, he was with his battered mate. Any damage that had been sustained during his capture had disappeared within twenty-four hours, a lucky break for Fury as it kept the way Bucky had landed here out of the forefront of his thoughts. 

It didn’t take long for Fury to realize the only thing amiss was Bucky’s lack of memories. After hearing story after story from Steve and the archives producing records and even videos of the pair together back way when, the mating checked out. Due to the fact Steve had been frozen with no way of knowing he would survive and be defrosted seventy years later, and the fact he by every account had no reason to believe his mate as anything but dead, he was absolved of any charges as a spy. 

Bucky on the other hand, still had a long way to go. 

Test after test after test after test was done. The repetition grating to Steve’s nerves as it drew out the time his mate was stuck confused in a cell. For Steve, it didn’t matter the reason why Bucky was alive, only that he was. The only thing that left his patience intact was the litany of ‘why’s on loop in his head. Questions that could only be answered by scientists and their need for certainty and perfection in this matter. 

The results were not promising at all. 

Years of brain trauma from endless memory wipes resulted in regular memory lapses and a body so hopped up on every type of suppressant on and off the market Bucky’s brain was no more than a series of jumbled connections desperately trying to find a way to stick. 

It was the smallest of mercies that in all of it, there came one good piece of news. Bucky Barnes had a series of neural pathways that were regularly manipulated and inspired violent tendencies when activated. When introduced to Steve’s scent, dormant, but much stronger pathways came on line. This resulted in redirection towards the stronger memories built on smell and more ingrained from previous regular exercise for an objectively longer period of time. While Bucky had been around for seventy years, his body showed signs of regularly being paused through a cryo freeze. The responses that had been built by Hydra, while older in theory, were far younger and had been less regularly used than the parts of Bucky’s brain that went online when Steve registered as present. All of it to say, Bucky was not in control without Steve, and the only thing that returned him to his state pre-brainwashing was his mate and the bond. 

The pain that had lived and planted itself firmly in Steve’s chest had not been isolated to him. Bucky had felt it each and every time he had been brought back online. It had been weaponized against him, a focal point that kept the Winter Soldier in line.

Steve broke his hand, squeezed his own fist until it fractured just to stop himself from punching the wall in a fit of rage. The burn was the only piece that made sense in the series of words that had so effortlessly ripped his world in two once again. 

Part ??   
_ limbo  _

Bucky wasn’t allowed to be removed from the base until he could prove stable enough to “be of no threat to the general public”. The terms were so vague Steve nearly staged a jailbreak then and there. He didn’t leave Bucky unless he had to, shunting off missions until Fury threatened to refreeze Bucky just to get Steve back out in the field. Every day was a battle on it’s own. Constantly repeating over and over as Bucky showed glimpses of the boy he’s once been. Every two steps forward was met with one step back. The suppressants he needed to be weaned from doing nothing but dragging them to a crawl as the omega’s brain tried not only to regain himself but battle through the hazed state he’d come to Steve in. The drugs seemingly enough to trigger lapses due to their use alongside the conditioning. 

It put Bucky in a fragile state and put Steve constantly on edge. It felt like years but had only been a month or two when something finally,  _ finally  _ snapped into place. 

**_. . ._ **

“Steve, where did you put my collar?” 

Steve dropped the book he was reading. He had been sitting in a chair in Bucky’s room, enjoying some quiet time with his mate as Bucky did a few memory exercises on a tablet. His eyes shot up towards his mate’s face. His mate stared back at him, unblinking. 

“I-- I have it back at the house. Do you want me to bring it?” He broke eye contact, picking up the hardcover with shaky hands. This was the first time Bucky had brought up the past without prompting, Steve hadn’t been prepared for it. 

There is a beat of silence. “I don’t remember what it’s for, but I remember it being important. I know I liked the weight of it. It was heavy, grounding.” Bucky’s hands creep up to touch the base of his throat. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky even realized he was doing it. 

Steve had a hint of an idea of what was going on in Bucky’s mind. He nodded and set the novel on the desk next to him. “I’ll bring it then. Hopefully it’s not too much.” 

“Thank you.” Bucky turned back to the tablet, little  _ pings! _ Come quietly out of the speakers. 

Unable to stay seated, Steve stood and walked around the room. Bucky didn’t look, a small but positive sign of trust from the otherwise jumpy omega. He traced his fingers over the spines of the few books littering the in-wall bookcase. Most were simple, a few children’s storybooks to help refamiliarize Bucky with reading and writing. A spattering of complex novels featuring fantasy and sci-fi stories, and two in Russian, those seemed to be the easiest for him. It was still something bitter for Steve to see something of Hydra being the most familiar in Bucky’s world, but it gave him a sense of confidence that he deserved to enjoy no matter how Steve felt. 

“Steve?” 

He turned, finally realizing he’d been standing still for more than a few minutes. Bucky had set the tablet aside, his bare feet were on the cold, polished concrete floor, and all Steve could focus on was how cold his toes must be. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Us.” 

“From before?”

“And now.”

“Steve…” Bucky stood, closed the distance between them and placed one careful hand on his mate’s arm. They still hadn’t given him a new one to replace the left. Bucky seemed to prefer keeping that side covered and well hidden from sight. 

Not one to deny his omega, he places his own hand on top of Bucky’s.

“You know that… even if I don’t remember, that I still  _ know _ , right? You’re my mate, and I know enough to know I loved you,” He squeezed the bicep beneath his fingers. “And that I know enough to know that I love you now.” 

Steve tightens his hold on Bucky’s hand. “But how can you? I failed you Bucky, I assumed you died and didn’t--- I didn’t even try to find your body.”   
  
“I fell off a cliff. I remember that much, Steve.” The details were spotty but Bucky had shown early on he could remember the fall. Steve despised that of all the things Bucky could remember, it was his greatest failure. Then again, it seemed fitting to get his due punishment for it.    
  
“I still should have gone and looked. I just--”    
  
“Steve, I don’t blame you for what happened.” 

Oh, and how the tears come. Head dropped to his chest, Steve let out a harsh, mangled sob. Bucky drew him in with one arm, moving to wrap it around his other half. He needed the contact. Wanted it bad enough his ribs ached with it. He practically smashed his mate into his chest, holding him close and burying his nose into the old mating scars. Bucky tipped his neck to the side and tucked his nose carefully into Steve’s gland, pulled deep, slow draws of the other’s scent. 

“I’ve missed you, Buck. Missed you every day I was here alone. I never stopped thinking about you, never stopped loving you.” The emotions ripped through him, determined to gut him. 

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever remember all of it Steve, even now the stuff I do know fades in and out. I only have feelings, only remember how it was to love you and not much else…” 

“‘s okay, you don’t need to remember for me. As long as you're happy, ‘s all I want for you, baby.” His throat mangled the words, but they made it out in one piece. 

Bucky pressed harder into the side of his alpha’s throat. “I’m getting there, Stevie. I’m trying, you make it easier but it’s still hard.”

“Take all the time you need, so long as you get there.”

It’s the first time Bucky’s kissed him in nearly seventy years, as lips slide from his glands up to capture his lips, it’s like finding home all over again. There are pieces, whole years of their life they will never have back, maybe not even in their memories, but so long as they’re alive, together, it’s perfect. Nothing about Bucky could ever be anything less. 

Part VI

_ homecoming  _

The day Bucky comes home, it’s almost disappointing how little fanfare there is. Steve didn’t want to overwhelm him, especially not after having to make the drive from the base through the city. Still, it feels as though there is something missing, like there should be more to the whole thing than the soft click of the latch falling into place as the door shuts behind them. 

Bucky held himself as though unsure of the space, like he’s waiting for someone to come flying out of one of the side rooms. He at least finally got a new arm, something functional for more every day living but still as mobile and dexterous as his previous one. Having both limbs at least seemed to be a small comfort in the series of uncomfortable circumstances they’d found themselves in. It was like bringing home a cat, only instead of hiding behind the couch, Bucky sat on it as though he was trying to make as little contact as humanly possible with the furniture. 

There hadn’t been much of anything to bring home from the compound outside of the books and tablet. Steve had brought street clothes to replace the jumpsuits they had kept him in but they would still need to go shopping as everything Bucky wore was Steve’s other than the socks. Some possessive part of him hummed at the knowledge that Bucky was wearing his briefs, the kind of odd claim that screamed mate to anyone who knew. 

Bucky scanned the room from his vantage point and it was then Steve realized Bucky had picked a spot with the most visibility of the room and those which fed into it. It was a piece of the omega that was still the Winter Soldier. Someone who was used to the constant threat of death from both his enemies and allies alike. Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor rebuilt in this case, but it stung somewhere in Steve’s chest to see it. To know that not even being home with his alpha could make Bucky feel safe right now. 

Desperate to move them into something controllable, Steve cleared his throat and ignored the urge to freeze when Bucky pinned him down with a look. The soft, hazy storm cloud gray turned to hard and defined steel as they locked onto the blonde. 

“I have some things for you.” 

The shift was instant, eyes turning back into something gentle, like they’d been expecting a threat and were relieved to find otherwise. 

Steve went into his bedroom, heard the nearly silent shuffle of Bucky following behind him as he went. The old collar was resting on the nightstand. Fury having told him not to bring it after spying on them that day, Steve would have argued if Fury hadn’t followed his words with, “We don’t want him to have it without supervision. He could do a lot of damage to himself.” It was a distressing enough thought that he put off bringing it. Decided that home was a much safer place to have such things and use them.

As if the object and the man were pulled together by some magnetic force, Bucky zeroed in on it immediately. He spared no time as moved around Steve to pick up the worn leather. He ran his thumb over the raised initials he had put there nearly a hundred years before, more than a lifetime ago. 

  
  


“It’s exactly how I remember it.”

Steve had to sit down. Managed to make it look casual as he perched on the edge of the bed but in reality he was struck into silence. He wondered if Bucky realized what he said. Wondered if even  _ he  _ knew the full extent of how much such a supposedly simple object mattered to this version of Bucky. It reminded him of the nest in the closet directly behind Bucky. His eyes wandered, wondering. 

“Will you put it on me?” Bucky holds out the collar. 

_ “Course I will, anything you want sweetheart.” A younger version of them both stand in front of Steve, two young men, boys really, living a life the only way they knew how back then--peacefully.  _

He wanted to ask if Bucky remembered the first time Steve had done it for him, if Bucky knew what the symbolism behind an alpha putting a collar on his omega was. 

  
  


“Steve?”

He stood, walking over and taking the strip and buckle carefully from Bucky’s open palm. “Sorry, was in my head there for a second. ‘Course I’ll help.” 

Bucky lifted his hair up, a strangely natural motion as it was moved out of the way. He wrapped the collar around the back of his neck and carefully adjusted the buckle in front on the notch one looser from the way Bucky wore it before so it settled comfortably around his neck. It would have been easy to do on his own, he didn’t need Steve’s help. But he asked, and that was worth something. How much; he didn’t really didn’t know. 

“Thank you, it’s nice.” Bucky thumbs the initials, looking at Steve in a way that made his stomach flutter the way it had the first time they’d stood like this. Two mates, a two pieces merging into one. 

“I’ve got something else for you.” He blurts it out and almost immediately regrets it. A muted curiosity lights up Bucky’s eyes, like he’s trying to hide but it can’t quite be contained. Steve’s in too deep to back track now. 

He holds out a hand, not surprised when Bucky hesitated before just barely grazing his palm over Steve’s skin. The alpha kept his grip just as light as he closed his fingers around it. Trust, undeserved but appreciated nonetheless. 

It wasn’t like they had to walk all that far, the gesture was unneeded, but it felt right. Even now, as he got up and stalked towards the closet. He paused before drawing the door open. He didn’t let go of Bucky as the nest came into view, just moved his fingers ever so slightly to feel for a pulse; a way to gage a reaction from the cold exterior he had to work with. 

The closet had been updated since Bucky had come back into Steve’s world. He’d managed to find pictures, and had been able to get a few copies of old family photos and images of them from Becca as well. They were hung up on the walls with clothing pins strung across a tiered length of twine. There were softly glowing seed lights strung up along the ceiling, their pale yellow hue comforting and homely. The closet door itself had a vent to the bedroom which could be opened and closed when fresh air was needed but kept privacy and safety intact. A foam mattress topper he’d cut down to size covered the floor lay under the pile of nesting materials. On top of it was a slick catching pad, he’d gotten the heavy duty ones just in case Bucky produced as much as he remembered. Pillows and various blankets were pushed off here, tucked in there, creating a somewhat okay wall to the nest, but one he fully expected Bucky to tear up and rearrange when he got the chance. 

Bucky seemed to be taking it all in, no recognition, not even a pulse jump. 

Until he spots the quilt. 

Folded neatly in the center, the full sized quilt was unassuming. One of the ‘O’s was clearly visible on the top fold in an attempt to make it at least somewhat familiar. “Built for two” was always the law of heat quilts, even during the scarcity of the Depression The closet was a little too small for the quilt to be spread out like he wanted. It would ruin the neat appearance and his effort to make something halfway decent. 

Bucky let go of his hand and practically floated toward the blanket. Bucky kneeled carefully onto the foam topper while Steve leaned on the door frame, watching and trying to appear casual. Freaking Bucky out right now was the last thing he wanted. 

He couldn’t help but smile just a little though as he watched his mate toe off his shoes and crawl through the nest. Bucky had always been a stickler about no shoes or dirty feet anywhere near it. It was good to see that some things never change. 

All gathered up in his arms and plopping his butt smack in the middle of the nest, Bucky buried his face in the time-worn fabric. Steve could see the shift in his body as he pulled in a deep breath, the dutifully scented fabric would smell like Steve and a lavender laundry detergent that was the closest he could get to the soap they had used before. Washed and marked this morning, it would be strong, and hopefully, familiar. 

They remained quiet for a long while. No sense of urgency or panic came to either of them, it was just a time for them to  _ be  _ more than anything. Steve was content to stay there so long as it meant being around Bucky. 

Eventually, Bucky looked up. “Are you not going to come in?”   
  
“You haven’t invited me.”   
  
Bucky paused. “You don’t just come in?”   
  
“It’s your safe place. It’s your nest, I don’t want you to feel like it isn’t yours to control.” It was an honest answer. Bucky should get to have this to himself.    
  
“Steve, please just come in here.”   
  
“Of course, Bucky. I always will if you want me.”   
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever not wanted you, Stevie.”   
  
And for a moment, Steve wandered into ancient memories. Memories of an old apartment and Bucky curled up against him. Those same words filled the space between them after a confession of their love spanning even into childhood. A moment he had forgotten until it was presented to him. 

He wanted to say, “But I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” He doesn’t only because the way Bucky looked at him draws him into the nest and a pair of waiting arms. 

Part VII

_ my love, my heart _

_ There is a syrupy slowness _

_ The way a heart makes  _

_ Or breaks itself _

_ Hurtling towards what? _

_ Healing or destruction  _

_ They walk equal paths _

_ Both torn from the light _

_ Hearts only lose their way _

_ When there is nothing to come home to.  _

_ _____ _

Bucky had been home for a week. There was only one bed, which they shared. Bucky seemingly fine but Steve would fret nonetheless about there being enough room; as though a full sized bed was somehow smaller than the twin they had once shared. He’d tried sleeping on the couch once to give Bucky the space to himself, but the kicked puppy look his mate tried to hide had him crawling back to bed. 

There were good and bad days, both before Bucky came home and now. It was a toss up which it would be. Tuesday and Wednesday Bucky forgot where he was and wandered around the apartment like he was trying to find something. He forgot Steve was there until he rounded a corner and saw him. It was like watching a scared cat, all hairs raised and anxious. Like clockwork, it took exactly thirty seconds before Bucky registered who he was. Steve was almost entirely sure it was because it took him that long to put the scent and the face together in his head. There was always  _ something  _ in there that said he knew, like the way he didn’t bolt the second he saw him. 

It happened every single time Bucky lost sight of him those two days. The new environment seemed to throw him off, like he needed to be moving, couldn’t stay still. 

It took Steve until Thursday morning to realize it was because Bucky thought he was on a mission. 

Thursday was thankfully kinder, Steve woke up before the sleeping omega and grabbed one of Bucky’s books before crawling back into bed beside him. They still hadn’t gotten to a place where they could cuddle, or that Steve dared to violate his boundaries by holding him in sleep, but Bucky shared his quilt and that was enough. In fact, Bucky would rotate the quilt each night, taking the side of the blanket that currently smelled strongest of Steve. Not that he was complaining. He got the same from Bucky in the process. 

Bucky woke up slowly. Had to start each day remembering who he is, where he was, why, and if he was in danger because of it. Spending nearly a century trained to do the opposite meant crawling towards wakefulness as his brain slowly supplied the details. Remembering was important now, and things that important took time. 

Steve waited, played on his phone with the book across his lap as he waited for Bucky to come back online. When a deep sigh curved his chest in low, Steve knew Bucky was with the world once more.    
  
“G’morning.”    
  
The quiet sound of lips smacking pop in the air between them. “Mornin’...” 

“Sleep okay?”   
  
“Yeah,” Bucky rolled over to face the alpha, being sure to stay cozy under the quilt.    
  
“Ready?”   
  
“Mhm.”   
  
Steve set his phone on the night stand and opened the book. The colorful imagery was surprisingly easy to digestive, cheery without being eye piercing. He’d picked this book though for the tactile sections. Ribbed cardboard washboard, faux furred dogs, smooth circles of foam, all things that felt distinguished even surrounded by the smooth glossy surface of the cardboard pages. He read the book out loud and steadily. Whenever there was something to feel, he would tip the book in front of Bucky, letting him trace the embellishments.    
  
Bucky’s favorites always seemed to be the soft things. Always took a little longer tracing the felt curtains, the shaggy brown dog, the curled wool of the sheep. He often did so with his eyes closed, just feeling the world around him, remembering each object through touch. It was less overwhelming, more grounding; something he had never gotten to focus on as the Winter Soldier because feeling had meant pain. 

They’d been through this book a few times before coming home, but only when Steve managed to get to the compound before he’d woken up. It would have been easier if the window between when he was allowed in and when Bucky woke up hadn’t been so narrow. But, it’s fine now. A nice part of their morning routine, a piece that broke from the droll of before. Steve needed to get another one of these books. They were convenient, more so than a box of things to feel, though they had a sensory box as well. A bin full of rice and a variety of shapes for Bucky to sift through when he needed a distraction. Bucky seemed to enjoy it well enough. It had different animals or objects for him to identify and as much as Steve felt bad for the toddler treatment, the doctors had proven it worked for Bucky and so long as his mate was okay with it, he would be. 

When they reached the end of the book, Steve set it on the nightstand. Bucky watched him, thoughts clearly fluttered behind those gray eyes.    
  
“What did we use to do in the mornings?”

Steve carded a hand through his hair, it would need to be trimmed soon. “We would cuddle. Talk about our plans for the day. Sometimes…”

“Sometimes?”

Steve tried to communicate the words he didn’t want to say through a look or two alone. He didn’t want to say it and make Bucky feel he needed to do anything.    
  
“Sex?” 

A nod. 

“Oh… Can’t say I remember having any.”

“Maybe for the best. I doubt they would have wanted it based on all the drugs they had in your system.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah…” He rubbed at his neck, his mating gland releasing a fresh bloom of his scent. “Did the doctor ever call you back about my labs? With all of that?”

“Yes, said they wanted to have you come in and discuss your options.”

Bucky shuddered, an unintentional but understandable reaction. 

“I tried to get them to do it over the phone, they said it was too important.”

“Thank you for trying.”

“Of course.” Steve was about to roll out of bed when Bucky caught his arm. He froze, holding still. 

“Will you stay?”

He stopped before shifting back into bed, facing the omega he shared it with. He held perfectly still as Bucky helped himself, taking in all of Steve. They stayed like that, Bucky’s hand on his arm. Minutes ran fast, the heat of Bucky’s hand made his skin hot. Steve doesn’t expect more, is content that Bucky is enjoying getting to feel him. 

The hand moved up, slowly as if scared. It traveled it’s way to his shoulder, over his collar bone. It is searing. The feather light touches settle on his mating gland. Neither of them breathe, both locked in a holding pattern. The soft pads of Bucky’s fingers knead the gland, searching for something, or maybe nothing at all. Steve’s touch starved body begged for more. He wanted to pull Bucky in tight and hold him like the world would end if he let go. Maybe it would. 

“Is this okay?” A hardly there whisper, the skin-on-skin contact moving to cup the underside of his jaw. 

“Yes, all of it. I’m yours, you don’t have to ask to touch your fill.” Steve raised a hand to cradle Bucky’s but stopped short, watched for a reaction, a go ahead. 

A shy smile was all that he needed to break the little resolve there was to refrain. He drank up the attention, wished he could touch Bucky and tell him how treasured he is. How he would make God himself weep if it meant making Bucky happy. 

“This is nice.” It’s said like a sigh of relief despite no exhale to mark it. Another feeling that Bucky considered himself lucky to discover wouldn’t hurt him. 

Steve’s hands had destroyed many, many things. Too many for his conscience to keep count. Bucky is the one thing he knows he could never break. Not even if heaven and hell willed it. 

Bucky settled into himself, flexed his fingers along Steve’s jaw and looked at him like he was the last clue to figuring out the world that eluded him. 

“Steve?”

“Yes?”

“Will you kiss me?”

Steve didn’t hesitate, pressed their lips together, made it something with purpose. Steve felt his mate melt. A pleased little hum worked it’s way between them and Steve isn’t sure which one of them made it. He doesn’t push, but does part his lips, just to offer a taste of himself to Bucky. He prayed his gift was accepted, he wanted it, shook with the urge to force his way in. Bucky was both his greatest strength and a weakness that could turn him to dust with a look. When the shyest dip of tongue entered the space between them, Steve can’t help himself. 

He cupped Bucky’s face in his hands and slipped his nose beside Bucky's with a tilt of his head. Steve had always found kissing like this messy, yet shared spit and breath always felt intimate when it was Bucky beneath his searching fingers and tongue. He could live in a moment like this forever, just for the closeness. Even the slightly sour tang of morning on Bucky’s tongue did little to dampen the moment. He was sure he didn’t exactly taste like peaches either. 

When Bucky pulled away with a soft  _ pop!  _ A hunger had bloomed through Steve’s chest. He wanted for more, bare skin and moans and a mess far beyond what mouths alone could manage. 

“ _ Bucky,” _ The name slid off his tongue, heavy and needy. “Need you.”

“ _ Steve,”  _ Bucky was reaching for him, wrapping his arms around him, trying to press their bodies tight. Steve reached back, not even wanting the dead space of air between them. Bucky buried his face into the mating gland at the alpha’s throat, mouthing over the old bite. 

He was nearly ashamed of himself as his cock took interest, tried to pull his hips back but Bucky gave chase, pressing hard and fast against the stiffening line in Steve lounge pants. Bucky moaned, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it, but enough to have him latching onto Bucky’s throat. He tongued over the swollen gland there, Bucky’s arousal pouring out from that little spot. It screamed  _ mate,  _ he wanted to bite down, rupture it and release all those content omega pheromones that Bucky had always thrown off when he reopened their bite. God, how he wanted nothing more than to make sure Bucky’s neck screamed  _ mated omega.  _

Holding back was both the hardest and easiest thing he had done since coming back from death. His blood burned but the reminder that this could be too much, too soon was screaming at him. He couldn’t move, this had to be Bucky’s to decide. Even if Bucky never wanted something like this again, if this was his only chance for the rest of their lives, he would refrain to keep Bucky happy. If that was the price to pay for the miracle of having Bucky back in arms, then he would soldier on without dwelling on the past. 

Ripped out of his own self sacrificing musings by hand sliding down his chest and into the waistband of his boxers, all thoughts beyond the present were quickly banished. Bucky’s fingers traced the head, his nail dipped into the slit and drew a hiss from behind his teeth. Bucky was smiling against his throat, if he wasn’t hard enough to pound nails he'd have to laugh at the poorly hidden cheekiness. 

“Stevie, you gonna lemme play with it?”

_ “Come on Stevie, I wanna ride you into the sunset already.” A younger version of Bucky, naked and smiling up at him from where his nose was tucked into the base of his cock. Bucky lapped at his favorite scent gland, the one that resided at the base of his alpha’s cock. A place Bucky had loved even when they weren’t getting up to something. It was a clear memory, but only in regard to his mate. The way the sun danced in his hair and lit up his eyes, made Bucky smell like sunlight and everything good in the world.  _

It’s over almost in the same second it started. Bucky is nibbling on his neck, toying with the cock in his hand and doing his damndest to jerk him at the awkward angle. 

  
  


“Yes, always Bucky.” Steve is met with warm gray and he nearly cries. The same eyes from his memories, recognition, no matter how faint. “You gonna ride me into the sunset?” It comes out a croak, unsexy and broken.

Bucky softened, pet at Steve’s face with the hand not currently down below the belt. “Course, no fun unless I’m back in the saddle.” 

He kissed him. Longing, asked him to remember more and Bucky answered in the way bodies do when they know more than the conscious mind can comprehend. Bucky slipped into softness like a second skin, tender in a way meant only for Steve. 

“I love you”  _ Just as much now as I did then.  _ Who says it? Maybe they both do. It is written into their very souls. Bucky Barnes would die for him and Steve Rogers set the world on fire. 

They get out of their sleeping clothes somehow, hands, tongues, teeth, fingers, legs over shoulder, hips. It’s a dance, one not even time could steal from them.

Steve is three fingers deep when Bucky shakes apart in his first orgasm. His cock only halfway in when the second arrives. 

Time means nothing, it drifts past them, two men out of time but somehow, in this moment they’re where they always were meant to be. No matter what forms their minds and bodies take, no matter the way the world manages to bend in half to keep them apart. They will find each other. 

They always do. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a comment! I'd love to know what you think <3
> 
> My tumblr is ceratonia-siliqua if you wanna come scream at me 🥰


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